Oliver Goes A'Questing
by DinoDina
Summary: A small quest gives way to a larger quest, and possibly some romance. If they survive, that is. Oliver/Percy medieval/magic/fairytale AU. Oneshot written for QLFC. Edit 20.7.18: long version posted.


**Team:** Wigtown Wanderers  
 **Position:** Beater 2  
 **Prompt:** Write about losing a pet (to death or otherwise)  
 **Additional Prompts:** 3\. (song) How Bad Can I Be - Dr Seuss' The Lorax, 12. (word) pillow, 13. (object) stick  
 **Words: 3982**

 **Thanks to Carmen, Aya, and Lynne for betaing! *hugs***

 **Here it is: The longer version I talked about two weeks ago. Still can't believe we managed to cut 800 words!**

The leaves crunched under his feet, the light frost of the night before breaking from the pressure and then melting in the morning sun. Oliver lifted his feet from the slush in disgust: half-decayed leaves, slippery in the wet ground, formed a formidable falling hazard. He gingerly stepped over a puddle, then quickened his pace.

He had no time to dawdle, no matter the state of the soil. He'd already wasted too much time: the tracks he was following would surely turn incomprehensible in the present conditions. He looked up at the sky and was struck with foreboding. Clouds were unforgivably gathering over the horizon, and he didn't have his cloak.

The chase was quicker without a cloak. The movement from a quickened pace would warm him up quickly—and if he caught the creature, the elation would be more than enough to last him until he reached home again.

But there would be time later to think of home. Now—Oliver knelt and examined the ground. The tracks were faint, but present.

A broken tree branch. Trampled grass. Divots in the soft ground.

"Gotcha," he whispered.

Or not. Oliver sighed as the bush he'd just thrown himself at turned out to be just a bush. He'd been so sure the creature was hiding within it!

"Where are you?" he hissed.

But the bush—devoid of the creature he was chasing—didn't answer. Of course not. Oliver huffed as he got to his feet once more, though he kept a close eye upon the ground. The tracks had completely disappeared: his throwing himself upon the bush had cemented that, and any hope of further tracking now seemed distant.

But Oliver wasn't one to give up. That wasn't how he'd become the strongest knight at Gryffindor Castle, the champion of the Quidditch Tournaments, and the long-lasting favorite of Queen Minerva. It was his tenacity and inner strength that had given him those positions; his daring and grit that had seen him through rough times.

He dusted off his knees and checked his sword. He was going to need it if he was going to venture deep into the forest—the only place left to search. Oliver raised it high and brought it down in a swooping motion over the bramble wall covering the path.

It was a sharp sword, made by the finest smith the town of Hogwarts could offer—but it passed through the bramble like through air. Like air, the bramble stayed intact, blocking Oliver's way.

He took a step back. This wasn't supposed to happen.

He raised the sword again. Better to try and fail twice than to give up after one disappointment. Once more, he brought the sword down. Once more it failed to mark the bramble.

"For luck," Oliver said, gripping the sword tight and raising it for the third time.

The arc of his swing approached the bramble—and then it wasn't a bramble, but a woman—and he couldn't stop the momentum of the sword.

Oliver shut his eyes, preparing for impact. But it never came. He opened them slowly: one, then the other, scared of what he would find. The sword was useless at his feet, still gripped tightly in sweaty hands; he felt his mouth open in surprise as his eyes met the woman's.

"Three times, Sir Knight?" she said reproachfully.

She had a soft voice, layered with the authority possessed by grandmothers and scholars. It reflected in her threadbare clothing, flyaway grey hair, and the openness shining in her plump face.

Oliver wasn't fooled by her normality, however, and sank to one knee, head bowed. "You're the Guardian of the forest."

"I am." He heard the smile in her voice—likely at the fact that he'd known who she was. "What brings you here, Sir Knight?"

"Wood. Oliver Wood." He lifted his face. "I never meant to attack your forest, and I apologize: the power of nature is not to be trifled with, not with brute steel."

The Guardian inclined her head.

Oliver continued: "I'm searching for a creature."

"A creature?" The Guardian's eyebrows furrowed. "Hunting?"

"No." Though he'd often gone on hunts, he never did so for sport. "It's… well, it's my pet."

"Your pet?"

"My squirrel—I took him in months ago. I was lonely, and I saw him near the castle: he was freezing, stuck far from home with no food. I brought him back to the castle, learned how to care for him. But…" Oliver made a helpless gesture. "I don't know how, but he got loose. We were riding—I take him out sometimes—and he ran away. I've been tracking him for hours now, I'm not even familiar with this part of the forest. But I'm scared: he's not familiar with it, either, and he's been away for so long…"

The Guardian thought for a moment. The reproachful look was gone now, replaced with a scrutiny Oliver had only felt at the look of Queen Minerva.

"I am afraid I cannot help you." She looked truly sorry, and Oliver was about to ask why. "If your squirrel has gone beyond this trail, he is out of my… well, I'll say 'jurisdiction'. Beyond this bramble is the land of a sorcerer called Cornelius."

Oliver swallowed. He'd heard the name before.

"He cannot hurt me and I cannot hurt him: that is the agreement between magic-folk. He chooses to torment those in his territory. The only reason he hasn't come into your kingdom is because of the alliance between myself and your queen." She sighed. "Perhaps one day he will be taken out of power, and harmony will be restored—but the true nature of his cruelty has been hidden for so long, we were not aware until he was too powerful to oppose."

"And… you think my squirrel's in there?"

The Guardian nodded.

Oliver stood up and squared his shoulders. "Then I must be on my way. Sorcerer or no sorcerer, I'm bringing him home." He cast the Guardian a smile. "Who knows, maybe I'll even defeat him."

She shook her head sadly. "I cannot help you."

"Can you help me pass?"

She looked ready to protest.

Oliver hated to say it, knowing the consequences of pissing off a forest Guardian, but braced himself and did it anyway. "I'm getting there with or without your help. I won't force you, but it'll be easier for both of us if you let me go."

She closed her eyes. "I've lost people to Cornelius before. Young, brave men—one brave man. Sir Cedric was as noble as they come, and he was so sure he'd be able to… well, he never set out to defeat Cornelius. But he wanted to help. And—"

"Sir Cedric's death is on the wizard's head, not yours." Oliver remembered hearing about it: a young man, raised in the forest by poor parents and known in Gryffindor Castle for his kind smile whenever he came to town as ambassador from the outlying villages.

Another sigh. Then the Guardian waved her hand, and held out what looked like a small pillow to Oliver. He took it—it was lighter than it looked, covered in a soft fabric that was probably cotton, and he knew that if he pressed on it, it would yield to his touch—and looked at her quizzically.

"A token," the Guardian said. "For your quest. It's filled with protective herbs, enchantments—I cannot give you anything offensive; that would go against my deal with Cornelius, and put us all in danger. But it will protect you on your journey: the trees shall provide shelter where you walk, the dangerous rivers will part their waves, the hard ground will become welcoming when you rest."

Oliver carefully tucked the small pillow into his shirt. It rested close to his body, and the warmth from it encouraged him—maybe it was wishful thinking, but he felt less alone with its cushioning presence.

The Guardian waved her hand once more, and the bramble parted in front of him. He exchanged a last look with her and stepped through. The bramble closed behind him with a rustle: no more Guardian.

The air felt colder. The trees were taller and darker, looming above him, threatening to block out the sun and sky. He could only see slivers of them, could only see bits of the ground underneath a thick carpet of fallen, rotting leaves. He drew his sword and stepped forward.

He expected to fall through the leaves, for a curse to claim him—for something. As he continued walking, picking up his pace, Oliver knew—felt—that this was because of the Guardian. There was something foreboding about the new forest, something sinister. The Guardian's forest had been unfamiliar, but this… He expected creatures to fly out at him through the dense trees—he now realized that he was walking through them only because of the Guardian's protection—or for Cornelius himself to appear and punish him for trespassing.

The only warmth came from the pillow nestled in his shirt. It was small enough to remain inconspicuous, but its presence was like that of a household fire.

Why had Hazel run into these woods?

"Stupid squirrel," Oliver muttered under his breath.

There was every chance that Hazel had already been killed by the forest. After all, the squirrel didn't have the Guardian's protective herb-enchantment-pillow. But Oliver didn't let those thoughts consume him—he rarely let negative thoughts consume him, not even when he'd been thrown off his horse three consecutive times during a Quidditch Tournament—and marched onward.

He walked until the dense woods and dark ground gave way to a clear, grass-covered path and a cold sun shining down upon him from a dull, cloudy sky. It was foreboding rather than comforting. Unnatural.

Eventually, the path gave way to a clearing.

Oliver looked up at the large tower right in the middle of it. Was that where Cornelius was? He doubted it: it was a tall tower, yes, but not a castle, and from what he knew about evil sorcerers, they had a flair for the dramatic. The weather was too mild to be a lair, anyway, and he could hear the chirping of birds and the chatter of small animals as he approached the tower.  
There had been no other place for his squirrel to go to.  
"Hazel?" Oliver sheathed his sword and began looking around. "Hazel!... Hazel!"

He checked under bushes—the trees around the clearing were as dense as ever, too dense for anything to survive there—and ruffled through the grass, but as the minutes passed, he became sure that he needed to search the tower.

That would be difficult due—well, due to the fact that it was a tower. With no visible entrance.

He would have to climb it.

Oliver stood close to the tower and looked up. The stones were smooth and laid seamlessly against each other. He couldn't figure out a way to scale it, but furthermore wondered how on earth the squirrel had managed to do it.

"Hazel!" he called up, then snorted at himself. As if the squirrel would jump down into his waiting arms.

He looked up hopefully, but was hit—not with the squirrel, but with a rope.

"What?..."

Oliver wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, he still had the protective pillow in his cloak, and he'd so far managed to escape danger. He took the rope and pulled on it. It didn't give. There was nothing else to it: Oliver grabbed hold tight and began to climb.

It was a much higher tower than it looked. He expected to get in through the window and be ready to defend himself, sword raised high, other arm ready for Hazel to jump onto. But when he did emerge through the window, it was with a lot of panting and swearing, and it took him five seconds to look up into the face of the person laughing at him.

Oliver readied his grip on his sword, but didn't draw it; it was no good to be hotheaded and make enemies early—besides, the man in front of him was tall and long-haired, scrutinizing him between the laugher with clear blue eyes.

"Who are you?" he said at last.

The man stopped laughing and let go of the rope, though Oliver noted that his tight hold on a long stick didn't slack. "Percy."

"Percy?"

"You're in my tower."

"So I'd noticed." Oliver took a step forward, then inclined his head in a small bow. "Sir Oliver Wood."

"Percy Weasley, if we're being formal." Percy snorted. "But I don't like being formal."

"No?" Oliver raised his eyebrows at Percy's appearance: a neat, clean tunic, though plain, clearly the clothing of someone who wanted to dress well but couldn't afford it.

"Less than I used to be. Formality didn't work out." A shadow passed over his face before it was gone. "Why are you here?"

"You dropped the rope."

"You were yelling." Percy shook his head. "You shouldn't yell in these woods. It draws attention to you. To me, since you're yelling right under here."

"Right. Well…" Oliver sighed. "Look, have you seen my squirrel?"

"Your squirrel?"

"Yes. It's who I was calling for: Hazel."

"You named your squirrel 'Hazel'?" Percy rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. Funny, Oliver had rarely seen men so young wear glasses: only scholars and physicians, and even then those who were over eighty.

"It's the first one that came to mind! You know… squirrel, nuts, hazelnuts: Hazel. Besides, it's not your squirrel." Oliver let his hand fall from his sword. No matter the length of the stick he was holding, Percy didn't look like a threat. "Seriously, I need to find him. He ran away, I've been chasing after him all day. I've even got a forest Guardian to let me in here!"

"You mean you're not from around here?" Percy took a step closer, eyes ablaze behind his glasses. "This land is under Cornelius's control!"

"I know. It's hard to miss with the woods and all. And the fact that this is the only alright place, even if the sky is a bit creepy." He shuddered. "What's up with that, anyway?"

"Magic."

Oliver blinked as Percy suddenly turned away. He placed his stick—it was more like a bat, albeit crudely fashioned—onto one of the desks in the room, then turned around, but he wasn't empty-handed. He held another stick, this one thin but sturdy, which rested in his hand so well, it looked made to be there.

"Come on then."

"What?" Oliver followed as Percy marched to the window and pointed out of it with the stick. "What are you doing?"

"Cushioning Charm." Percy had climbed onto the ledge, then looked back with something that looked like a smile. "Just follow me."

And before Oliver could say anything, he was gone.

He leaned over the window, expecting to see Percy's broken body at the foot of the tower, waiting to hear a sickening thud, but instead saw Percy get up and beckon him down. Magic. Alright, then. Oliver climbed onto the ledge, closed his eyes, and jumped.

And was pulled up by Percy, who began walking to the edge of the clearing.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

Percy huffed and faced Oliver. "Look, you're a knight. I fully believe that you came here to find your squirrel, but it's not here. The best thing to do would be a Summoning Charm, but I can't do that—not while Cornelius is in power. I'm not strong enough. But because you're a knight, I think you also came here to defeat him—I know the likes of you, Oliver: you think you can do anything as long as you try. But that's not how evil sorcerers work. So I'm coming with you."

"You're… what?"

"I'm coming with you."

Percy began walking again, and kept walking past the forest boundary. There was nothing for Oliver to do except to follow, so he did: the trees around them were suffocating, the air thick with foreboding. The Guardian's protective pillow seemed to come alive, warming up against Oliver's cloak, but that wasn't their only companion: Percy's stick—it wasn't a stick, it was a wand, how had Oliver not noticed?—emanated the same warmth.

"You need someone who knows these woods," Percy whispered, then said even quieter, "And who knows Cornelius."

"Wh—"

"He needs defeating, and I have some mistakes to correct." Oliver just looked at him quizzically, so Percy sighed. "Look, I'm not proud of it. But I've been stuck in these woods—in his lands—all my life. And he wasn't evil always. At least not publicly evil. He just wanted power: the more, the better. Power, power, power—" Percy snorted bitterly.

He stuck his wand between his teeth and his hands moved back to his hair: Oliver realized he was braiding it.

"How do you fit into it?" he asked carefully. "'Cause… well, no offense, but you don't look the type to go along with evil schemes."

"That's nice of you," Percy bit out around the wand. He was silent until the braid was done and he was holding the wand again. "It's easy to miss things. And by the time I noticed Cornelius had the kingdom in his pocket, I'd been his apprentice for over a year. I ran away before he became evil. You know: 'Only the strong survive, and I'm the strong'… 'I'm going to control your economy and your daily lives, it's all for your own good'… 'I'm going to spread lies throughout the land to make everyone distrustful of each other'… things like that. Paranoia, rhetoric. Murdering, too, of course. I didn't have anywhere else to go. I'd cut ties with my family, but it was too late to find them—Cornelius had already placed the curse on the land."

"Curse?"

"The darkness." Percy waved a hand at the trees. "Not only a physical constraint, but a mental one. You can't rebel if you can't see what you're rebelling against. If you can't see that things are wrong. He's twisted everything!"

Oliver desperately wanted to provide some comfort. He'd never defeated a wizard before, and he'd never been under the complete control of one, but Percy suddenly looked resilient, not in the least like a victim, and he searched for something else to say.

"Why's your tower so… so normal?"

"Magic." Percy gave him a grin. "I wasn't a sorcerer's apprentice for nothing. I'm not powerful enough to defeat him, sure, but I can do a few things."

"It's pretty impressive from where I'm standing."

Percy's ears turned pink. Oliver hid a smile. The young wizard was interesting, with his blushing ears, large glasses, and the braid that hit his waist as he walked.

"Why're you in a tower, anyway?"

"Other than the fact that it's the only place I had the time to cast protective enchantments around?"

"Well, yeah."

"I used to hide there when I was young. My brothers always teased me—I have five of them—and I just wanted somewhere to be alone. That's why it doesn't have a door. It's also why I wanted to learn magic: you can't be bothered if you have magic."

Oliver carefully reached out and squeezed Percy's shoulder in support. Despite the unhappiness of his tale, he seemed like a sensible and determined man, someone Oliver would be happy to fight alongside.

They kept walking. After the first hour, it seemed just as pointless as his journey to Percy's tower: woods and soil and the comfort of Percy's wand and the Guardian's gift.

He could tell when they approached Cornelius's castle, though, and it wasn't because of Percy placing a warning hand on his arm or the sudden absence of trees.

"Your magic…" Oliver whispered, feeling the warmth of the Guardian's gift disappear.

"Barely works here."

The darkness cracked around them, so stifled under its own power that it slowly deteriorated and lost control. It got worse as they approached, small lightning bolts falling out of the sky and breaking off pieces of the castle that Oliver and Percy just managed to avoid. Some of the pieces Percy was able to deflect with his wand, but Oliver could see that he was indeed weakened—he wasn't fully trained—and they dodged the stone by flattening themselves against the floor and walls as they approached the center of the castle, throwing themselves at each other for protection.

Oliver's sword was out and he was ready to fight, though he wasn't sure how. What was steel against magic? He turned to Percy, who was pale against the crumbling castle and the thrum of magic much more powerful and sinister than his.

"Where is he?" Oliver shouted. "We need to find—oof!"

He landed flat on his back as the castle shook, thrown away from Percy, and scrambled up, retching against the wind being knocked out of him. "Percy!"

Oliver looked around frantically until he saw him stand up, and ran over the broken stone. He grabbed Percy's arm and dragged him further into the castle. There would be less debris there, less chaos.

He was about to say that to Percy, to use the relative calm to think of a plan, when the castle shook once more. Percy's panicked eyes met his. As the walls came down around them, Oliver threw himself at Percy once more.

That was it, then. Darkness, stone, nothing. No squirrel, no victory, just the eternal crushing of the castle and magic around it—but that wasn't it.

Like with Percy's Cushioning Charm so long ago, the pain didn't come. It was easier to breathe, easy to stand. Holding on to each other, Oliver and Percy did just that. They looked around: the dark castle was gone, the dense trees around them a light-colored deciduous forest, and it wasn't Cornelius's malicious face looking down at them, but that of a kind old man with a long beard and twinkling eyes.

"What are you doing here, boys?" Oliver didn't consider himself a boy, and it must have shown on his face, because the man laughed. "You're very brave for trying to defeat him. I'm afraid I got there first—you must forgive an old man for that, had I known, I would have left the deed to you."

He swished his cloak and was gone. Oliver shut his eyes with a sigh. Magic again.

Then Percy was tugging him forward, onto the wreckage of Cornelius's castle, his face split wide with a grin and his eyes swimming behind his glasses. "He's gone!"

The grin was infectious. It all was: the air was light and the sun was shining high above them, he could hear people all around him, some already cheering, others asking each other what had just happened.

"He's gone." Percy's tightened his grip on Oliver, still looking around in wonder. "This is… wait, you're still looking for Hazel." He grinned and raised his wand. "This is the easy part!"

He muttered something Oliver didn't hear, and for a second, it was as if nothing happened. Then it did: he saw a blur flying towards him, and by the time it collided with his chest, Oliver could see that it was his squirrel.

"Thanks." He stroked Hazel's head and watched as the squirrel nuzzled into him. He looked up at Percy, then, straight into his blue eyes, and decided that he wanted—needed—to see him again. "Hey, Percy?"

"Hmm?"

"Now that Cornelius is gone, there's no border between our lands… How'd you feel if I visited?"

Percy's ears turned red as he nodded and moved his hand to hold Oliver's properly. "I'd like that very much."


End file.
